I Don't Wanna Be Pretty Anymore!
by Monsignor Gabriel
Summary: A short story about a model who gets fed up with her job at Paradise Kiss Studios


_**I don't wanna be pretty anymore!**_

**A short story about a model whom got very, very fed up with her job**

Her foot ached so much it felt like she was standing on a bed of nails. God, how she hates heels! If she met the sadistic bastard that invented heels, she was gonna put the sharp end of the damn shoes so far into his eye he won't be able to get the fucker out! It's a medieval torture device, not a fashionable piece of attire, was Miyuki's way of thinking. She's an Okinawa girl, all the way from the tiny island way out on the ocean. Her parents had to move here as little kids during the second World War. They got married, and they produced their daughter. Being both lively and creative, they raised her up as an artisan. She worked well with her hands. She painted, sculpted, drew, everything that had to do with the whole fancy artsy stuff. However, ever since she was a little girl, Miyuki "Okinawa" no Aisha had only one dream: to be a model. She was a fashion-oriented young woman. And she had the looks. And she had the enthusiasm. And, most importantly, she had the strut.

It made her mother laugh like there was no tomorrow, or a _Three Stooges _short on TV. It made her father look on blankly, contemplating odd, awkward feelings of how very, very, very cute her daughter looked in high heels and a tiny little bikini. And it made those watching her realize something: the strut was a reflection of the spirit, indeed. Miyuki's hair seems longer than it usually is when she does it. She straightens her spine, she raises her chin, she puts one foot in front of the other in the same line, and she glides across whatever surface she is on, be it water, air, or ground. Miyuki was a natural, plain and simple. She had grace. She had character. She had charm. And, of course, she had beauty.

Of course, if one observes such things, one can see that such things are not necessarily virtuous characteristics. Therefore, they are not seen as such, and therefore are not appreciated by those whom do not see a connection with these things with their own well-being. Miyuki was an object of scorn, gossip, and drama; all of which she had not expected when she took the job. She'd joined the Paradise Kiss Studios at it's peak, when it employed almost 500 different people, including models, publicists, accountants, managers, etc. Koizumi was captivated not by her personality, but by her looks; she inspired his "Edo Renaissance" line, which is fallback to past fashions and a kind of "geisha" and "samurai" vibe, which soon led to the creation of beautiful pieces, including an exquisite kimono Koizumi gave Miyuki as a gift. He knew there was something about her that was special, but he just couldn't see what it was...

You see, Miyuki is different from the average employee at Paradise Kiss. Miyuki has a volatile individuality several people did not really enjoy in the least. She is notorious for storming off of photo shoots because of things only she seemed to experience. One such incident occured only recently: a photo shoot with a female designer/photographer, whom produces the most renowned Goth and Visual Kei-style stuff on the market. The shoot was going smoothly. Even if Miyuki thought the whole Goth thing cheesy and stupid, she still respected the woman's taste and professional conduct. However, rumors go, the woman seemed to have begun to get too friendly with Miyuki, and uttered a command that is relatively common in the biz: "take off your clothes." At first, Miyuki had no objections to this, as it was rather limited. But then, she claims, the woman groped her. Miyuki clenched a fist and punched the woman, knocking off five teeth! Miyuki charged the woman with sexual assault, but she was eventually given a deal out of court. Apparently, it was a very big money reward, because Miyuki stopped coming to work for almost six months.

Her peers thought her trashy and a drama queen. Her fellow cat-walkers averted conversation with her, fearing they too would begin to punch their bosses, eat food (eeww!!) and photographers. The otaku writers and engineers thought her a pretty little whore, and even believed she slept with Koizumi to get a better paycheck than the rest of the workers; of course, this theory leaves out the fact Koizumi is in a relationship with his top model, Yukari Hayasaka. She had several close friends, both models and non-models. However, the blackness of the majority of others she could rarely ignore.

Thinking now how the heel seemed unable to comfort her feet under her weight, Miyuki compared it with her relationship with her co-workers. She thought of how cheesy and ridiculously melodramatic her situation was: she's the Queen Bee, the girl _cursed with beauty, oooohhhh!!! _Everyone hates her because she's so perfect it makes them all sick. Guys want to be with her, girls want to _be _her, whatever it takes! She was back in high school, worrying about her weight and whether her five boyfriends had gonorrhea and what others thought of her. Did she exercise enough this day? Should she have eaten that piece of bread at lunch? Is her ass too big or too small? Does she have mucus in her nose (where it should be)? Oh, here come the cutter thoughts now... was she worth anything? Was she worth anything at all to the world?

She looked pretty today. She was made up like a doll/prostitute today, one of Koizumi's better of his worst ideas. Her cheeks had round red circles on them, and her face was paled white with makeup. Her hair was up in a high bun. Her dress was short and black-and-white. The shoot meant to symbolize what Koizumi called "the corporate model": cheap, mass-produced, hollow, expendable. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

She didn't want a picture of salty water making her make-up run down her face in her portfolio. She didn't really need this shoot. She excused herself all of a sudden and ran backstage. She didn't change. She merely ran inside the nearest bathroom, shutting off the light, inside the nearest toilet stall, and she plunked herself down on the toilet in the dark. She opened her mouth and relaxed her eye muscles and she began to weep like a kindergarten schoolgirl who's favorite toy had been broken by a boy in her class. This was eventually replaced by silent moping, where she put her feet up on the seat and grabbed her knees and put her head in between her legs, trying to stop crying. She didn't anyone to hear her. Sadly, someone did.

A little old custodian ("the appropriate name for janitor" says Koizumi) had come into the restroom to mop and unclog the toilets the larger otaku girls had used earlier in the day. He'd heard the crying from outside, and was at first scared of going inside. He waited for about five minutes until the bawling had stopped, at which point he walked through the door and asked whether anyone was hurt. Silence. "Hellooo?" the custodian called into the abysmal room, his mop at the ready, in case someone came at him. He heard a sniff coming from the third stall down the row. He knocked on it with a real quiet _tap, tap, tap.._. "Go away" a little voice inside said.

The lock was not put in, so he pushed on it with the wooden handle of the mop. Inside was the girl everyone had been saying went off to shoot up smack. She'd been crying, for her makeup was running and all over her hands and face. She didn't wanna come out the stall. But he eventually coerced her out of the stank receptacle by dangling a cup of hot Dutch cocoa in front of her. That'll clear up all that mucus in her nose, no? She sat on the table of the staff lounge. She was looking around, curiosity on her face; she'd never been in here before. "What, you figure that if you step in here you'll catch syphilis, too?" the janitor asked her. She giggled. She doesn't believe what the gossip flies buzz up. "Smart girl" the old man says, sitting in a chair next to the table. She looks down at her cocoa, smiling.

"I was worried someone'd been hurt; pretty girl like you, don't know what kinda sick scum gonna try to take advantage of ya" the old man said. "Yeah..." Miyuki said, "I see what you mean..." She was disturbed; was this guy psychic? "Now, I know it ain't any of my business, but little girls crying in bathroom stalls ain't normal, don't matter how many times it happens these days. Usually means something's wrong with ya..." God, he's an evil little Yoda-esque Force master, isn't he? "My Psych BA ain't total junk; hell, comes in handy often in this line of work, particularly 'cuz of this situation right here." No wonder; Miyuki had a cousin that went to college and got a Psych degree, and he works security at the local mortuary. "Now, ain't saying you gotta trust me; I'm just sayin' it helps to tell somebody what your problems are."

Miyuki looked down on her cup. So this is why little old people are the best psychologists: they lull you into a false sense of security and trusting to get the goods out of you. If this were some forty-something janitor, Miyuki wouldn't even be sitting in the lounge talking to him, she'd be home, puking all over her toilet and toothbrush. But little old people... they're good, they're really, really good. They get you to admit stuff you wouldn't normally admit. This explains it all: priests, gynecologists, every person you tell secret stuff to is an old little person! She's gonna open her mouth right now, and she's gonna be careful not to say everything at one time... little old people are like polygraphs: they can smell fears and lies a mile away.

"I've been under a lot of stress lately" she tells him. "Models always are; gotta make sure your skin ain't too white, your belly doesn't touch the abdominal wall, your nails aren't yellow from all the polish you put on them, your hair isn't falling off because of all the smoothing and frying you put it through, make sure the high heels don't mess up your feet because you have a barefoot shoot next week... it's enough to drive someone insane." The little old man frowned. "Do you like this line of work?" he asks, and yes she says. "But if only they didn't come up with all of this outlandish bull-crap that only some no-talent pop star's gonna wear once in her short lifetime, this business wouldn't be the ass of so many people's jokes. I feel they should be more practical. Especially that Koizumi guy; his stuff is so stupid... But, then again, he does right to pay attention to what others think of his stuff..." "But do you feel he handles his 'stuff' correctly?" "No... fashion... fashion these days is out of whack; it's supposed to be tasteful _and _have some kind of personal flavor to it... but nowadays, it's what other people's tastes are. Versace never thought about what others thought of him, and look at him: sure, he's dead, but he's famous and respected! I mean..."

"This job is not meant for you" the little old man said. "Huh?" came from Miyuki's mouth. "Don't you see, my child? You are not meant to wear what others place on you and accept it; this is a natural fact of life. You should be out there, designing things yourself." But this is just a stepping stone; she'll be out of here soon. "You will probably not have these thoughts left within you when you get to the other side. It is human nature to be forgetful, you know." She wasn't gonna stay here forever. "Not saying this. But one can be in one place for too long. A mouse cannot stop moving for a half-hour, lest it die of suffocation. Think about it: you are bigger than a mouse, so your suffocation could take longer; but make no mistake, it will happen if you remain here. Your roots are clearly grown, you must branch out now. The first half of the chronicle is complete; you must now go on to the next. One cannot stop for too long, lest you remain rooted to the spot..."

Little old Yusuke's words made Miyuki's ears ring. All this talk of suffocation made her thirsty. Walking to the vending machines, the first boss grilled her. It was her manager, Mr. Konakawa. He was disappointed in her; the fifth shoot she's walked out of this year! The second and third bosses, her make-up woman and her photographer, had the same attitude. The fourth, the otaku chick that handled her portfolio, was pissy today: she told Miyuki to stuff a tampon up her period-bloody vagina and get over whatever the hell troubled her. The fifth, some random model, taunted her, calling her "Mopey Miyuki". Koizumi came up finally... "you walked out of the shoot? Again? Miyuki... for fuck's sake, you're costing me a lot of money, damn it! You don't start treading real damn lightly, I'll see your posh ass out on the red light street!"

Miyuki looked straight into Koizumi's eyes. Her mouth smoothed around her face into a smile. She started speaking very quietly, so only she herself could hear what she was saying... "Oh, Koizumi... Koizumi, Koizumi, Koizumi, what are you going to do with mopey old me?" Koizumi blinked. He was dumbstruck, and didn't speak again. "I look at you, and I can't bear think that you are my owner. You're my pimp, you're my merchant; you're the man that sells my image to a bunch of drooling, hair-lipped fag-hags for a magazine subscription every day, every day... I look at you, and I can't help but laugh."

And she laughed. A few people began to look. "Koizumi, you don't seem to realize something, but you're a _joke. _You make me laugh my damn ass off! You make _all of us_laugh our asses off" and she waved her left arm in one sweeping movement behind her, signaling at all those present. More people turned their heads to look. "I realized something today, also..." she put her face right next to Koizumi's. With every word, she made him retreat farther, "...you are a no-talent, weak-ended, self-righteous, _spineless_, _brainless_, quacking, gabbing, _impotent**,**good-for-nothing, faggoty **CUM BUCKET****!!**_" The last words she yelled at the top of her lungs. Everyone near them gasped. They were all looking at them now.

"Every time I see you... I wanna tear off your FUCKING head and throw out the damn window. I wanna rip off your FUCKING arm and beat you TO FUCKING DEATH WITH IT! I'M SICK OF YOU, AND I'M SICK OF YOU" she pointed at a model near her, "AND YOU" she pointed at an otaku near her, "AND ALL OF YOU! I'M FUCKING SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF ALL OF YOUR BULLSHIT! YOU PEOPLE ARE LIKE LEECHES, SUCKING THE FUCKING LIFE OUT OF ME, UNTIL I'M HOW YOU WANT ME TO BE: A DAMN PALE-SKINNED EMPTIED-OUT SHELL, LIKE THE REST OF ALL OF YOU! WELL, I'M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE! NEVER, EVER AGAIN! NOT FROM YOU, OR YOU, OR YOU, OR ANY OF YOU!" And she quieted down as she tried calming herself. Her voice was still more like sulfuric acid the next time she spoke. "So... I wondered: do I really need this job... do I really need this stupid job?" And she began asking herself, over and over again... until she reared her head with a deep breath... "SO YOU, YOU STUPID COCKSUCKER, CAN TAKE ALL OF THESE SHITTY RAGS YOU CALL CLOTHES AND ALL OF YOUR DAMNED SHOES AND THE CHEAP PLASTIC CRAP YOU CALL JEWELRY AND ALL OF YOU CAN SHOVE IT UP YOUR TIGHT, NARROW ASSES! TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVE IT, FUCKING SHOVE IT ALL THE WAY UP!!"

She waved goodbye with her middle finger all the way to the elevator.

-------

Miyuki no Aisha had a gift that made her unique from all those around her. Turns out, this gift was a business-person's brutal guile. Bulldogging it's way through several different competitors before consuming them all together in the T.S.E. (Tokyo Stock Exchange, for those that don't keep up with the abbreviations), _Okinawa Fashions _has become the #4 largest and most successful designing and fashion studio in the country. It's main shareholder, "Okinawa" herself, elected herself chairwoman and editor-in-chief of over fifty fashion magazines her studio photographs for and publishes. The studio is also home to one of the most successful little old psychiatrists in Japan: Dr. Onondaba Yusuke, , author of "Supremacy over the Synapses: Zen in the Art of Self-Control", a revolutionary physiological psychology manual on how to achieve control over the electrical discharges of the brain, and currently the Director of Humanities at _Okinawa Fashions_. The good doctor is the stuff of legends, having allegedly cured almost 500 different cases of anorexia, bulimia, and insomnia.

Recently, the two "superstars" were spotted at a T.S.E.-sponsored dinner. Reportedly, Miyuki had run into her old boss, Koizumi. In a heart-warming moment of nostalgia, Miyuki was said to have lifted her middle finger at Koizumi whilst smiling big. This, sadly, cannot be confirmed.

One can see a plaque hanging from the chairwoman's office. It is golden, with this engraved upon it:

_"A wise man once said..._

_the correct and honorable way of quitting your employment follows a set path..._

_with the utmost politeness, utter this phrase and then walk away:_

_TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVE IT _

_RIGHT IN BETWEEN YOUR BUTTOCKS!_

_..._

_please"_


End file.
